


Molly Gone

by GoodDalekPeppergrinderfromdowntheRiver



Series: Sherlolly (if you squint) [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Crime, F/M, Friendship, If You Squint - Freeform, kidnap
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 12:17:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8056006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodDalekPeppergrinderfromdowntheRiver/pseuds/GoodDalekPeppergrinderfromdowntheRiver
Summary: Molly is kidnapped and it is up to Sherlock Holmes to find her.However, who has kidnapped her and why?





	1. Chapter 1

Mrs Hudson shudders slightly as she enters Sherlock's flat. Right in front of her view is the coffee table. It is littered with: a newspaper; phials of pretty looking chemicals; a rat that seemed to be mid way through dissection and fleshy red heart on a coaster.  Some days– such as today - she wonders why she ever agreed to lease Sherlock the flat. 

"Sherlock, the table is for eating, not for your experiments," she chides. However Sherlock pays no acknowledgement to his landlord. His piercing eyes remain fixed on the chessboard on the small coffee table in front of him. He leans forward and frowns slightly in contemplation. After a couple of seconds he moves a chess piece.  

Mycroft, whose sat opposite him and who is also focusing on the game as if his life depended on it, chuckles. His laugh however is mirthless and more the sort of you're-so-stupid sort of way.  "Brother dearest. How it must hurt to be the slower younger brother," Mycroft says mockingly before moving another piece and declaring check mate.  

Mycroft raises one of his eyebrows and gives Sherlock a pompous I-am-better-than-you smile. Sherlocks eyes narrow and he would like nothing than to wipe the smile of his brothers face. For a second, it reminds him of an indignant child who was made fun off for losing. However, he pushes the unnecessary thought aside and with a swift and graceful movement, he gets up and turns to his landlady who is bustling around and cleaning his apartment.  

"Mrs Hudson. Where is my tea?" He asks. "And biscuits,"  

"I am not your house lady," she remarks though without a hint of indignation. She's too used to making Sherlock's tea and clearing his apartment than. She busies herself with making tea and then places a mug in front of Sherlock.  

"It is nice to see you too getting along," She comments smiling at Mycroft. He offers Mrs Hudson a small smile.  

"If this is what you would call getting along," Mycroft responds. He and his brother had never been too close. When they were younger, Mycroft dedicated their time together to reminding his little brother that he was stupid. Now they were older, he still did the same. However, their relationship had upgraded with the added features of: playing the occasional board game; talking about crimes and Mycroft keeping an eye on Sherlock from afar.  

"Indeed," Sherlock agrees staring at his wall. Pinned to it are pages of newspapers and notes however none in particular catch his interest. They are all of recent crimes. Some so mediocre that even Scotland Yard could apprehend the criminal. Some were just boring and others were just... just not right. He frowns slightly diverting his attention to the rat he was experimenting on. That alone is no good. He needs something bigger. His next fix.  

Mycroft tilted his head slightly staring at Sherlock from behind. He gets up and walks towards Sherlock till he is right next to him. From the way he is holding his palms together and staring at the wall as if it has offended him, he can tell that his brother needs another case.  

"One of my associates-" he begins.  

"No, too boring," Sherlock immediately responds, not even looking at his brother.  

"What about that one?" Mycroft asks pointing at one of the notes on the wall. 

"Solved it already without leaving the apartment. Next!"  

"Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson calls.  

"What?" He responds.  

"The door. Aren't you going to get it?" She asks.  

"Why would I?" He frowns slightly.  

"Someone is knocking," She responds. When he makes not attempt to open the door, Mrs Hudson does it herself murmuring to herself _'you are supposed to open a door by the way.'_ Something that such a great mind like Sherlock's could not comprehend. She opened the door to reveal Greg Lestrade and John Watson.  

"Ah, Gavin, John. I'm bored. Any cigarettes?" He says without even casting a glance at their direction. However when neither of them scold him or remind him that it was him who paid them not to give him cigarettes, he turns and frowns. When his eyes meets there he realises that there is something completely off. John and Lestrade are both look rather apprehensive as if there is something they'd rather not say.  

"What has happened?" Sherlock asks.   

"You... you may like to sit down," John suggests and Sherlock frowns.  

"Tell me," He insists. 

"Well... you know how this morning you asked me to collect a box from Molly from her lab?" John starts. Though Sherlock is not as fluent with his deductions when it comes to deducing emotions, he is certain that John and Lestrade are both distressed. "I tried calling you. But you didn't pick up so I called Lestrade,"  

"Straight to the point John," he says slightly irritated that he doesn’t have a clue what could have possibly gone wrong.  

"Molly. Molly Hooper was not there,"  

Sherlock frowned slightly. He knew very well that Molly was passionate about her job – it was the way that she hummed whilst she was dissecting corpses. He knew that she did not take the holidays that she was entitled to and so her absence could only be caused by something so servere. Not a death of a parent – her parents were already six feet under. No... He frowned slightly as he considered all the possibilities. However, few were consistent with Molly Hooper's usual behaviour and a person does not change who they are overnight. After ruling the rest of the possibilities, Sherlock concludes that the most plausible explanation is the most unsettling. Perhaps something happened to Molly on her way to work. For the first time ever, he hopes that he has got it wrong. He hopes that he is merely just tired and sloppy and as a result, that he is missing a more rational and plausible explanation.  

"She could be on holiday," Sherlock offers with a lack of conviction. He knew very well that she was not on holiday. What he is thinking was a lot more gruesome. However for the first time ever he found himself hoping that he is wrong. Mycroft is quick to catch this and he raises his eyebrows as if to say 'really'. Sherlock is feeling mildly irritated. Did he not understand the gravity of the situation – it most definitely was not time for Mycroft to gloat or act as if he is better and smarter and more informed than Sherlock he is. 

"Sentiment has clouded your judgement dear brother and I fear that you are not thinking logically or objectively,"   

Sherlock's eyes narrow and his green eyes are sharp. "I am not being sentimental at all. I am just-" 

"Being stupid. Come on brother. Put the pieces together. John called Lestrade at the absence of Molly. Would he have if he just thought she was on holiday? Brother dear, something has happened to your pathologist,"  

"She is not _my_ pathologist," he protests, picking up what Mycroft is insinuating. The way he said 'your' was rather pitiful. As if to say, look at your life brother, it is so infected by sentiment and emotions. How sad.  

"Boys grow up!" John growls. Mycroft remains silent and raises his eyebrow whereas Sherlock glares at him. "Molly turned up to work today, it seems. She was seen before her break and after by Mike Stamford. However, she is not there now,"  

"And... well... there was... there was some evidence," 

"What?" Sherlock said brusquely trying to get to the point. He observes both John and Lestrade as the remain silent. John looks rather solemn, and Lestrade is refusing to look Sherlock in the eyes as if to say that there is bad new... 

Sherlock growls slightly. "Why didn't you tell me this the minute that you entered the room? You do realise that we have wasted valuable time!" He would quite like to hit something or to insult one of them because, seriously, they are idiots. There was no body of course – he had learned what John's face looked like when he saw a dead body and this wasn't it. However, they saw something. Blood and … he looks at Lestrade and examines his clothing. There on the sleeve of his coat is brown hair. Conspicuously, it is not his though it's rather short. However, it is certainly Molly's colour. He is certain, not because he pays attention to the colour of her hair, but sometimes he catches her hair in his periphery. So whoever took her, cut some of her hair off. But why? Why....  

He frowns as he considers all the reasons. He finally concludes that it is a way to get his attention. A way to validate the crime. To tell him that it is definitely Molly Hooper that they have. His blood boils at the fact that they have taken innocent Molly Hooper just to get to him.  

"I trust that you have done at least some of your job well and blocked of her lab?" Sherlock asks harshly. 

"Yes," Lestrade responds not at all happy at the tone that Sherlock is taking with him. He told people who criticised his decision in trusting Sherlock, that he was a good man. However, the man was bloody irritating as well! 

"You are not seriously thinking of finding her?" Mycroft asks, as if the prospect is incredulous.  

"Yes," Sherlock responds.  

"She is only a pathologist. You can find another, " Mycroft responds dismissively.  

"She is our friend!" John fumes. 

"Brother, you are letting sentiment get the better of you because you do realise that this is a trap?" Mycroft says each word slowly as if Sherlock is a child who just doesn't seem to understand despite various attempts in explaining.  

Sherlock refuses to reply. Of course it is a trap. He realised as soon as he saw that Molly's hair had been cut. It was deliberate to get his attention because they knew that he'd know it is her hair. They know that he will come and that he will find them. He knows that he can get a new pathologist and perhaps one who is more skilled at their job – though that would be hard to find. However, the prospect of someone new, was very much distasteful. He'd have to their personalities and he just didn't have the time to do so. And though he refused to admit it, Molly Hooper was his friend. She mattered. She helped him fake his death and helped him whenever she could. He couldn't just leave her. 

"Who will I get body parts from?" Sherlock asks.  

Mycroft tuts but Sherlock ignores him.  

"Let's go to her lab. See if any clues have been left," Sherlock says to John and Lestrade. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock finds some clues when he is searching through Molly's office

Long ago, when his mum made him and Mycroft go to school, Sherlock had concluded that most people were idiots and were sluggishly slow compared to him. Through his observations, he discovered that other peoples problems was that they were contaminated by poisons such as love and sentiment. As a result, people, in his opinion, were deprived the ability to see the world objectively. He told himself that he'd never be one of those people.  

Then he met John Watson, Mrs Hudson, Lestrage and Molly Hooper. His philosophy was not completely demolished because he still looked out at the world and saw it for what it was; he hadn't let companionship shade that. However, deep down, Sherlock couldn't deny that he felt the tiniest bit fond. Even though at the best of times, they were like goldfish.  

Molly in a way was his first friend. Though neither of them knew it at the time. Sherlock was rather apathetic. He was always so rigorous and thoroughly absorbed when it came to work, that he wouldn't be in the mood to engage in small talk. He'd be blunt when he thought she should stop talking and they'd continue working in sterile silence. However, despite the lack of communication, she always did matter and he did care about her. Just not in the ways she wanted him to care. She wanted him to care about the trivial things about what she was doing in later that evening and about her cat Toby. Whilst he cared about whether she was at work and if she'd be engaging in anything risky or if she was attempting another car crash of a romance. Her welfare is important to Sherlock, not her social life. 

 He first suspected that they were friends when John was explaining to him that a friend cares about another person's welfare. He readily upgraded her to a friend and when he told her so, she had such a soppy smile which earned a bemused look from him.  

Therefore, Molly's disappearance is much more than just another case to Sherlock. He cannot stay unattached and he cares more about the welfare of the victim as opposed to solving the crime this time.  

 

He hurries off to Molly's lab once he gets off the cab. John and Lestrade are quick to follow.  

 

Sherlock steps over the police line that is surrounding Molly's office and he is instantly pleased that Lestrade did not feel the need to meddle and tamper with any of the evidence. He puts on plastic gloves and looks around. At first inspection, the room looks the same as usual. Nothing seems out of place. He smiles slightly and involuntarily as his eyes catch the shelves with all her lab equipment – as immaculate as the first day she used them. He always silently appreciated Molly's clean and neat nature because he hardly encountered any errors in his results.  

He gingerly moves towards Molly's office. He is making sure that he is looking at the floor for any of the hair and blood that he knew would be there. There was no sign yet. However, his eyes clock on the table and he sees - 

"Sherlock, what should we do?" Lestrade asks and Sherlock ignores them. Actually, it is not really ignoring if he hadn’t really acknowledge any words being said.  

John clears his throat which Sherlock is all too used too and Sherlock turns around irritably. "Yes?" He snaps, for John knows better than to distract him when he is deducing.  

"Anything we can do?" John asks.  

"Go question people," he says vaguely. He turns back to the table and frowns slightly. On the table are tablets. Now, this is peculiar. Molly likes a bit of a drink – she drained a glass of wine at his Christmas party in the space of twenty seconds. So in that respect, she does use some drugs. However, she does nothing illegal and the only thing she it is a safe deduction to say that she has no drugs on prescription. A healthy adult with no history of obesity, heart disease of cancer would not have to use any preventative medication. The pills, he is certain, are not hers and it is not a chemical that the lab possesses. The only possible conclusion is that whoever took Molly brought it. And why would they bring it, if not to use it? Sherlock's heart beat quickens in apprehension as he realises that Molly was drugged.  

On the white tablet is forged the letters ROCHE and Sherlock stiffens, immediately knowing what it is. This... this is not good at all. He knows without doing a chemical test, that the drug is a rohypol. Ordinarily, in such a case, he'd feel nothing for the victim. He would observe such a chemical and then make a deduction about the victims fate and whereabouts based on it. However, he finds himself slightly panicking that whoever used the drug on Molly only used it to get her out of the building and not for anything else. He hates that the evidence suggests that contrary but that looking at the situation objectively would mean seeing Molly in a grave situation.  

He puts the tablets in a transparent bag and places it in his pocket. He inches around the table and crouches down as he spots the blood and hair on the floor. He is certain that the hair is Molly's. However he is rather sceptical about the blood. If she were cut or injured, there would have been a trail of blood – not a few specs situated in one area. He goes to find a pipette and then cautiously draws in a bit of the blood. 

He has an inkling that the blood isn't Molly's. However, he needs to make sure. Molly, he knows has the blood group A – he insisted that she tell him two weeks into meeting her. His blood group is a B. Therefore, if he were to add his blood into Molly's, it should clump. As he uses a scalpel to create a small incision in his arm, he is hoping that whoever kidnapped Molly made a mistake. He is hoping that they had no idea what blood group Molly was and as a result, blundered by leaving the wrong blood group. As he mixes his blood into hers, her is happy to find that it does not clump. Therefore now he can be certain that her blood has not been spilt.  

He moves into her office and cautiously looks around. Molly's mostly goes out for lunch, apart from when Sherlock is in the office. Normally, she eats out and then returns. Prefers not to contaminate her work environment with food – another reason why she was so great to work with. However, there is a tray of cold chips on her desk suggesting that she went out to order food and then brought it back. He is certain that the chips aren't from the café in the hospital. Molly only ate food that was in packets – refused to eat anything they cooked because she remembered from school how much she hated cafeteria food. Where would Molly go? He questions. She has an hours lunch and she wouldn't go more than 10 minutes away... From a ten minutes radius away from the hospital, three shops sold chips. He places some of the chips in a transparent bag, noting to himself that he will ask John or Lestrade to go check.  

He frowns as it is inconsistent of Molly to bring food back up. Something... something must have happened to cause her to deviate away from her normal routine. She is a creature of habit – why would she change what she does on the day she gets kidnapped. It cannot be a coincidence... 

Ah! Suddenly, the answer strikes Sherlock. She had company.  Her chair is at a 45 degree angle not at all facing the computer and there is a chair in front of hers. As if someone was facing her. Ah... So Molly Hooper had a friend with her. He concludes that it is a male from looking at the table. Distinct, on them are finger prints. He must have been tapping the table.  

Sherlock frowns slightly. He is at a complete loss. Molly hadn't mentioned anyone at all. She never made any subtle indications at all. If she had, he'd have picked them up and probed her about it. So perhaps it was a male that she just met today. However, that makes no sense at all. Molly is not stupid. Well, by normal peoples standards. She is smarter than average despite her penchant for sociopaths. She is a bit desperate on the man front, however, she knows better than to invite a stranger into her office.  

Lost in contemplation, Sherlock almost misses the stray paper on the seat. He picks it up and turns it around. Written out with news paper letters, says 'Welcome Sherlock Holmes. What a nice day it is for a game,"  

That is when Sherlock flips. He bangs his fist on Molly's table and he furiously growls "this is not a game!" He is absolutely angry that Molly has been roped into something that does not concern her and he promises to himself that when he finds whoever has done this, that they will suffer. He knows that he is dangerous company, but that never really bothered him before. However, now that Molly has been targeted as a result of her affiliation to him, he cannot help but feel angry at himself.  

He tries to steady his breathing – he needs to stay cool, calm and objective. He cannot help Molly in the state he is in. All his anger just interferes with the precision of his deductions.  

He leaves her office – he has as much as he needs. He takes all the evidence that he has put in transparent bags and leaves to find John and Lestrade.  

 

 

He bumps into the outside her office and launches into explanation. "She saw someone before she disappeared. A male that she knows. She was drugged and … she couldn't have left through the doors. Someone would have seen her though there is no obvious exit... I think there must have been a distraction-"   
 

"A fire alarm rang today at 1:45 pm and after that, no one saw Molly. According to Mike," John says.  

Sherlock frowns and it comes to him. "Of course, fire alarm set off and everyone is in a panic and no one is paying attention on who leaves... she must have been smuggled out then. Molly must have been shouting but amongst the panic, her voice would have been drowned out. " 

"What do we do now?" Lestrade asks. Being the one employed as a detective, it wasn't that weird for Lestrade to ask a man who wasn't, for help. At first, it was. It seemed rather inappropriate and he was certain that he was breaking at least a couple rules about confidentiality. However, as time wore on, even though Sherlock was insufferable at best, Lestrade got used to asking Sherlock for answers.  

"Well, I found this," Sherlock says pulling the bag with the tablets out.  

Greg and John closely examine the tablet. After a couple seconds, realisation dawns on their faces This is quickly replaced by horror. Greg was not an expert when it came to medication and normally, he'd be unable to tell the difference between antibiotics and painkillers. However, after seeing the drugs so many times after his many years of being an inspector, he'd know the drug from a mile away. Not that knowing brought him any such comfort. Once it was pinned down, he knew what he was dealing with and that devastation and pain would ensue for the victim. John had come across the drug once. A patient came in saying that she found the pills in her bed when she woke up and had had no idea what she did the previous night. John had taken the pill to ask another Doctor about it and when he re-entered, he hated himself for having to break such news to the lady. Telling someone that they had been given date rape and that it was advisable to go straight on a contraceptive and take a pregnancy test, wasn't pleasant at all.  

"Do you.. Do you," John asks, feeling his mouth run dry. Poor Molly. He desperately hopes that she did not suffer in the nature that he thought she did.  

"No. I think that this was staged. That whoever did this knew I'd come for them and that they are trying to rile me up. I think wherever Molly is, she is safe." He says with conviction. He actually believes his words. Rarely, Sherlock is wrong. He is hoping that this is not one of those times. Either way, all he knows is what when he gets his hands on whoever has taken Molly, they will suffer.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I will just like to mention that this story will not contain anything of a sexual nature. Just wanted to make that known.  
> Hope you all enjoyed. Also, this chapter is sort of mainly deductions and there will be more deductions but it won't be entirely deduction based


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that this has taken absolutely ages. Sorry. I started uni and got sidetracked. :( I do intent to complete it though.

 

 

“Okay, so what do we do now?” Greg asks. He is so used to taking orders from Sherlock, that he does not find it weird. He has accepted that when it comes to solving mysteries, Sherlock’s expertise exceeded his – in fact, it exceeded everyone’s. Just because Greg had an official title as opposed to a self-pronounced title, like Sherlock, didn’t matter at all.

“From what I could tell, for lunch, Molly went to a chip shop that is within ten minutes from here.” He reaches in his pocket to show a sample of the chips, but before he can, Greg interrupts him.

“I know where we are going. Fish’n’chips. It’s three minutes away and its Molly’s favourite.” Greg says.

John looks at his baffled, silently pondering whether Sherlock’s deduction skills were rubbing off? Sherlock on the other hand frowns. His eyes unintentionally piercing Greg’s. He is rather sceptical when it comes to taking Greg’s word for it. After all, the man was very often misinformed. Moreover, if it were Molly’s favourite chip shop, wouldn’t he already know? Sure, he wouldn’t have asked about something so insignificant. However, he probably would have read it on her at some point.

“How do you know?” is all he can ask, allowing a slight chance that he may have probably just have forgotten seeing as someone’s favourite chip shop is hardly relevant information.

“Well we went there a few weeks ago. She said that she loves the place. She finds the other chip shops around sleazy so she doesn’t go there,”

“Why?” Sherlock asks. The question is hardly relevant – he has the confirmation enough to know that he is not following a red herring. He’s a little bit annoyed at himself, if he is honest. What should matter now is bringing Molly Hooper back to St Bart’s. However, now – and he doesn’t know why – Molly’s and Greg’s interactions outside their professional realm is all he can think about. He’s not jealous – of course not. He doesn’t do jealousy. Only those who could afford their minds to be idle did that. He is more curious. Curious in a way that seldom is.

“Why she finds them sleazy?” Greg asks, bemused. John however catches what Sherlock means and despite the gravity of the situation, his lips curl up into a knowing smile. Sherlock, Mr ‘sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side,’ is being assaulted by emotions and they’re such a foreign concept to him that he doesn’t even understand them.

“No, why you two went to go get chips,” He clarifies – though for the first time since his childhood, he feels stupid.

Greg frowns when he realises what Sherlock just asked. He’s surprised that Sherlock actually cares. Since when did he care about what people did in their spare time? Whenever Greg mentioned anything about his personal life, for instance, his wife – or soon to be ex-wife as she was cheating, as Sherlock put it – Sherlock would glare at him as if to say that talking about anything other than murder was a heinous crime. Now that same man, was asking for details of his personal life. Maybe he was worried that something was happening with Molly and him – that makes sense. Only, knowing Sherlock Holmes, it makes no sense at all because he lacks feelings of that nature. Furthermore, Sherlock was brutal when it came to Molly. He knew very well that she is in love with him and he uses that to his advantage by asking for huge favours with flattery. How could such a man actually care about a woman in that way?

Before he can respond, Sherlock walks down the stairs and says “Guys, we’ve wasted time we don’t have, let’s go to the chip shop. I trust you know the way Gavin,”

“It’s Greg,” he says as he follows Sherlock.

 

 

Sherlock strides into the chip shop with John and Greg at either side of him. He heads straight to the counter. “Hello, I am wondering if- “

“Are you Sherlock Holmes?” a man interrupts. He is rather tall and skinny. His skin is rather pale and he has neck length greasy black hair that is partially hidden by a white hat.

“Yes, and I was wondering if – “

“Hey guys! It’s Sherlock Holmes!” The man shouts. The other employees leave their work stations and head towards the counter. They stare at him in awe.

“I know you! Where is your funny hat?” One lady asks. 

Sherlock clears his throat, a little irritated that he has been interrupted twice. He gives them a hard stare that certainly does its trick and intimidates some of them. Most of the crowd disperses and continue working “My friend Molly Hopper was here. We need to know when she got here. Was she with anyone? Did she appear distressed? Did she say anything,” he asks the cashier.

“Molly Hooper, that pretty little scientists I know er,” the brown-haired cashier says. “Keep try’na to get her to ave a drink with me, cuz we could get on, y’know. But- “

“Could you hurry up and answer the question?” Sherlock asks glaring at the man. He gulps and nods.

“All on ‘er own. At around 12:45pm. Never usually ‘ere at the time. She normally comes in the evenings sometimes after work. However, she fancied a bit of chips and I say she wanted to see me no matter what she said about not wanting drinks. Wouldn’t stay and eat, even though I insisted. Had a delivery coming in at 1pm, she says. And I were like, screw that delivery and she were laughing and was like, it’s important and said she’d eat on the way,”

“Sherlock! It could have been the delivery guy!” John exclaims and Sherlock offers a curt nod.

“So, what are we waiting for? Let’s go back up to the lab and find where the delivery was from and-“Greg says.

“Not yet,” Sherlock responds frowning.

“What are you waiting for?” Greg asks.

“But, every second we waste is a second-“John begins.

“Both of you shut up, I am thinking!” Sherlock says and the cashier flinches a bit at Sherlock’s harsh tone, even though it is not directed to him. John and Greg are far from offended though. Instead, they stand silently, trying, with no avail, to figure out what dots Sherlock are joining together. When Sherlock opens his eyes, they look at him with anticipation.

“Our kidnapper… he’s clever. Very clever. He knows what trail that I will follow. He knew that I could come here. He’s having fun,” he says, a small disgusted edge to his voice. If it weren’t one of his friends caught up in his game, then he’d almost be at awe. He would see it merely as a puzzle. Even if someone was in danger. It was just the way he was, cold and unattached. Of course, he wanted to find the victims well and alive, but caring about their safety wouldn’t ensure that. However, as it was Molly Hooper, his pathologist he found that he couldn’t be as unattached or objective as usual.

“Clever?” John asked, bemused.

“Yes.” He turns to the cashier. “Has anyone strange entered the shop recently?”

“Nope?”

“Sherlock, we’re wasting time. Molly was kidnapped from her office, not here. She was seen during a fire alarm so-“ Greg starts and Sherlock huffs because he doesn’t understand. He really does not see the point that he is trying to make. How stupid does he have to be, not to?

“Or anyone… unfamiliar customers? People who have never been here before?” Sherlock enquires.

“Hmmm… bout 12 yesterday, there was a man. Asked to use the toilet and I were like, you ave to order something and he were like, after he uses the toilet and so when he came back, he were having a look at what we make and he spent ten minutes deciding until he were like, nah, he didn’t want anything and I were like, oih!”

“Toilet… no. They would get cleaned. That wouldn’t be smart. He was here for ten minutes? Where was he?”

“Just stood at the counter,” the cashier says.

“Sherlock! We should go, this is pointless and Molly is in danger!” Greg scolds.

Sherlock, however, does not even pay attention. ‘If I were going to leave a message, where?’ he whispers to himself. ‘I am stood right here and I don’t want it to be cleaned away…” Then Sherlock notices the stack of fliers besides him. He picks them up and finds a white sheet of paper underneath.

“Sherlock, explain what is happening!” John says.

Sherlock huffs but abides anyway. “Whoever took Molly was clever. It wasn’t a spur of the moment, but it was a carefully conducted plan. They deliberately left hair and blood in her office. They deliberately left the ROCHE tablets and a note in Molly’s office. They knew that Molly had got chips and they knew where from and they knew that I would come here and so they would have left something here,” he holds up the piece of paper. He opens it up.

“Hello Mr Sherlock Holmes. I have your pretty little pathologist. If you want her back, bring 200,000 pounds. Then, I’ll let you have her back. If you don’t, I will hurt her.”

“Where are we going to get money like that from?” Greg asked, horrified.

“Sherlock, I hope you have a plan!” John Watson frowns. “Do we pay it?”

Instead of answering, Sherlock strides out of the chip shop. Before Greg and John can catch up, he is in a cab.

 

Sherlock stares down at the paper, whilst still gripping it. He is absolutely fuming. His blood feels like fire surging through his vessels. It is bad enough that they kidnapped Molly. However, that they are treating it like a game, is taking the piss. She is probably somewhere petrified, shaking and pleading to be released. Being her sweet self, she is probably more worried that Sherlock will be walking into a trap as opposed to her own welfare.  He never usually puts the law in his hands. He usually just captures the criminal and hand them over to Scotland Yard. He usually leaves the judging for people who are absolutely think that good and bad is distinct like black and white. However, he will find whoever has done this and he will tear them apart! Excruciatingly slowly so that they truly suffer for their utter stupidity.

He breathes in slowly and silently, trying to stop the anger from ensnaring him. Right now, anger won’t help – it will merely make his thought processes prone to inaccuracy. No, right now, he needs to be calm for Molly. After all, he has already made several blunders, as a result of not being able to keep his emotions in check. Earlier, he’d neglected vital evidence. He saw the box on the table, but missed it. He has no doubt that the delivery man is the perpetrator and that the receipt on the box will lead him straight to him.


End file.
